


A Song of Summer

by orphan_account



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: AND FLOWERS, Butterflies, Help, I dont know how to tag, Introspection, M/M, Nature, Summer Vibes, and that is a fact, because we love that here, character studies i guess but like, just two boys in love, lots of imagery, no, road trip i guess, so all the good stuff really, summer time, these boys Complete each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:09:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Max and Dan think about what they mean to each other on a summer's day.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	A Song of Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,  
> I'm currently working on a multi chaptered thing (?) but I wanted to post again so  
> Here is a fic about summer, butterflies, flowers, and Maxiel.  
> Heavily inspired by Butterflies by Thomas Headon.  
> go listen to it, it's a good song.  
> anyway,  
> I hope you enjoy!

Dan looks over to Max.

Tanned arms resting on the steering wheel, wind whipping gently at his curls.

The car thrums calmly beneath him. 

Making music with the sweet gravel of this dusty road through country lanes.

Dan looks over at Max.

He has his eyes closed.

Head tilted back.

Capturing all the rays of the dappled afternoon sun, splayed laughing across his face. It flickers and dances, shade dipping and falling away to bright gold, before chasing back

again in shades of glorious splodges.

Mouth curved into the subtlest mention of content.

Max looks  _ peaceful. _

More than that.

Max looks like he  _ belongs. _

Like he belongs here, in the mid afternoon sun, amongst the green gold trees edging the road and the tall wild grass sprouting in tufts from furrows.

Like he belongs in the yellow shade and blue black shadows of a countryside lazing in the glory of a pleasant afternoon.

Like he was born to flit ceaselessly by bough and branch, between gravel track and open summer air suspended on wings, rising and falling like breathing.

Dan thinks in a past life, Max would’ve been a butterfly.

Drinking in the sun in cool bursts. 

Floating, swirling, drifting through the sky with wings that whisper a song of sleepy calm, busy unhurriedness, peaceful work.

Of joy, and light.

Of bubbling blue springs and grown green leaves.

Of sweet smells and enticing scents.

A song of verdant life springing fresh from the ground.

A song that swells in country lanes, the hum of a car beneath you, the warmth of the sun on your skin.

A song of summer.

Sometimes.

Sometimes, when the song swells to its loudest.

Dan thinks he can see the outline of what Max was.

All fragile wings and gentle beats.

Arching and delicate.

Multi faceted, each panel jewel toned, glowing in the sun.

A stained glass window in nature’s cathedrals.

Shades of black and gold, red and blue.

Hues that blended and meshed, shimmering, powdered by the paints of a heavenly hand. Framed in a body crafted by an absent god’s absent minded fingers. The colours of 

a world slipped into the lightest of packages, a glimpse of a world beyond folded into a breathing wisp. 

An ethereal afterthought that dances discarded on the breeze.

Blessing a world that does not deserve to be blessed.

Dan thinks he’ll never get tired of looking at the colours that burst out from Max’s butterfly wings.

Max can see Dan looking at him.

Dan does it often enough that it would be hard for Max to miss.

Even if Dan was being as subtle as he thinks he is.

(he’s not)

But that’s the thing. Dan isn’t subtle.

(not by a long shot)

So Max knows.

Knows that when Dan looks at him, he sees colours, and light, and wings.

Knows Dan has him saved as butterfly on his phone.

And Max -

Max thinks it’s  _ perfect. _

Because he has  _ always _ seen Dan as a flower.

As to which flower, he’s never been quite sure.

Never been able to decide.

Some days, when he comes home to soft lit candles and long folding tablecloths and champagne in the novelty cups he got Dan as  a joke gift last winter - 

Some days Dan is the beautiful curling rose, blushing pink and satin red, beating in time with two hearts.

Some nights, in moonlit evenings, when starshine pools on their bedsheets, when soft velvet voices drag against silk skin, and heaven seems so achingly  _ near _ -

Dan is an orchid, exotic, rare, unique,  _ perfect  _ in all that he is and ever will be.

In moments like those, he is so utterly, profoundly beautiful, Max is almost afraid to touch him.

_ (almost) _

Dan can be bluebells, shy and arching, or lilies, proud and vainglorious, or cherry blossom, scattered and cheery, snowdrops, daisies, tulips, poppies -

But the flower that Max thinks Dan is the most, the flower that contains his essence, his soul, the flower that irrevocably screams  _ Dan - _

Is the sunflower.

The sunflower, with large golden petals, and a head that always faces the sun.

The sunflower, with its charming irregularities and imperfections, that compliment its beauty with such happy humility.

The sunflower, that brings light, and laughter and cheer wherever it goes.

He sees it in Dan’s blooming smile, so freely given out for the world to enjoy.

He sees it in Dan’s laugh, that blossoms out so readily at any given moment.

He sees it in the curves of Dan’s tattoos, in the bounce of his curls, in the skip in his voice.

But most of all.

He sees it in Dan’s  _ soul. _

Taken root in the centre of his being.

How it shines out, in yellows and golds, petals shaking out, unfurling, stretching out.

Max is happy to be a butterfly, if Dan will be his flower.

**Author's Note:**

> onehonoramongstthieves on tumblr   
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
